03- Dual Trigger Extra: Un Partito di Tè
by Chronic Guardian
Summary: There are plenty of less than successful ways for a Handler to try to connect with his cyborg. Some are just even less successful than others. [Twelve Shots of Summer]


**Dual Trigger Extra: Un Partito di T****è**

by Chronic Guardian

**A/N: **

**Written for the Twelve Shots of Summer week 3(Tea Party).**

**First off: whether you know what the heck Dual Trigger is or not (in-universe explanations at the end), the following story is sort of like a filler episode in the Così****Lontani da Casa arc covering the induction of Laguna and Quistis(apparently pronounced "Key-stis", with "Quis" then being akin to "Keese") into the SWA. It has little to no bearing on the canon and is mostly just a self contained snapshot of character development. Please note though that this follows the revised DT canon where Jecht and Breska aren't part of the SWA and thus aren't present for the fun.**

**Oh, and in Dual Trigger, Laguna is Portuguese (but is often seen as an outcast because of his outgoing, charismatic attitude), so his Italian isn't always the best.**

**Happy Reading! And be sure to drop by the Twelve Shots of Summer Community for stories much better thought out than this one.**

**Regards,**

**-CG**

}§{

Laguna hugged his machine gun a little closer and cringed behind his cover. The clatter and whiz of bullets lodging themselves in the wall in rapid succession was making his ears ring. Plaster dust and gun smoke were mingling in the air and taking up unwanted residence in his lungs. Expelling the stuff with a forceful cough, he tugged up his collar and tried to breath through whatever mild filtering it offered.

He was biding his time. If the thug wanted to waste his ammunition carving holes in the walls, that was fine by him.

*Crack*

A piece of dry wall flew off its resting place and nicked his cheek, eliciting a grimace. _Fine so long as it doesn't end up killing me, anyway._

Tightening his grip, he breathed in and waited for the silence he knew was coming.

Predictably, the ratta-tat-tat of his opponent's SMG was suddenly replaced by the sound every novice hears too late.

Click, click, click.

Laguna seized the moment, bursting around the corner and rushing, gun blazing, straight at the man at the end of the hallway. The man panicked, lost his handle on the clip he'd been trying to load, and subsequently let out a pathetic cry as Laguna closed in.

"Surrender!"

The man stared, apparently taking a moment to realize he wasn't dead yet, and began loading another spare clip. He was quickly interrupted by the butt end of Laguna's gun making sharp contact with his face. He gave a final gargle as his eyes rolled backward and he crumpled to the ground.

Laguna sighed and lowered his weapon. "For the record, I _did_ ask nicely."

"After missing repeatedly at under twelve yards," a girl's voice noted from behind him. "Either you need more time at the range, or it's finally time to retire that piece of junk."

Throwing a glance over his shoulder at the approaching blonde toting an M4 carbine, Laguna threw his hands up defensively. "C'mon, Quis! You know I missed on purpose. We want this one alive."

"Why not have me do it then?" the girl asked, quirking an eyebrow as she reached his side. "I mean... I _was _just behind you. Two seconds and we wouldn't've had to risk anything."

"Two seconds and he would've reloaded," Laguna told her flatly, relieving the unconscious man of his remaining armaments. Were the other girls this defensive about snagging the kill? "I know you like to charge in there like a juggernaut, but ya need to learn some situations require a little more tact, alright? Coming home full of bullet holes after every mission isn't gonna help us in the long run."

"..."

He shook his head and straightened up. "Look..." He attempted a smile and gave her a shoulder pat. "You can take him back to the support agents for me if you want. Thanks for clearing the lobby."

The blonde girl remained silent, declining to show any satisfaction with the offering, but did obediently drape the downed man over her shoulders before falling into step behind her Handler.

Laguna frowned to himself as they left the scene to return home. Any other Handler would probably be evaluating his girl's performance right now. Heck, any other Handler probably would've been watching from the getaway van letting his cyborg handle the whole mission herself.

And she probably would've preferred it that way too. He sighed and looked to the sky, trying to sort out how he was going to deal with this. _That girl is way too serious._

If only he could teach her to unwind somehow...

}§{

"A tea party?" Jean Croce, head of the Handlers, looked over the messily handwritten request with his usual unforgiving scrutiny.

"Yeah!" Laguna Loire, the Portuguese recruit, was making a valiant effort to remain congenial despite the setting. "All fratelli welcome! Everyone needs a break now and then, right? Besides, it'll give us an' the girls a good chance to all get better acquainted."

Jean scowled at him. "Shouldn't you be more worried about your reports, Mr. Loire? We want a full account and evaluation of your cyborgs performance by tomorrow morning."

"No worries," Laguna assured him a with a smile. "I've got it all covered, Mr. Croce, sir!"

"..."

"...So is that a yes?"

Jean turned back to observing his cyborg's range practice. "So long as you do your work, I don't care how you waste your time."

Laguna beamed and threw a salute. "Thank you, sir! I'll tell the others it has your official sanction!"

"..." It certainly wasn't what he'd meant, but telling that to Laguna was like telling a sawed-barrel shotgun to stay accurate. Besides, it wasn't like there was an actual chance that the other Handlers would take him seriously. Really the biggest worry Jean could have about the situation was Laguna coming back to continue interrupting practice.

"Sir?"

He lowered his eyebrows and returned to his cyborg, who had stopped shooting–without his permission–and was giving him a curious look over her shoulder.

"D'you think I could go to that tea party thing, sir?"

Jean refrained from slapping her across the face for even asking such a stupid question and simply pressed her hands to the rifle once more. "Keep practicing, Rico," he ordered curtly.

Much to his satisfaction, she was smart enough to take the hint. "Yes sir." She pressed her eye to the scope and continued on as if nothing of consequence had happened.

Because as far as Jean was concerned, nothing had.

}§{

"Sir?"

Quistis' voice came muffled through the wooden door of Laguna's room. He straightened in his swivel chair and blinked, not having expected her to return so early. Twisting to face the room's entry, he brushed back some of his raven-dark bangs and cleared his throat. "Yeah? C'mon in, Quis."

She obeyed, silently, opening and closing the door with more grace than its hinges ever allowed _him_ and walking a few steps in clipped stride before standing at attention at a respectful distance.

"Sir," she greeted him in a cool, even voice, her sky blue eyes as impassive as ever. She extended a collection of pages to him and waited patiently to be relieved of the burden.

He brightened up. "Ah, the reports!" he beamed as he received the notes and went over the summation of their latest raid as well as an impressively objective self-made progress report. He nodded in approval. The girl could stand some improvement in making it less dry, but he doubted the book keepers would mind too terribly much. "Jean'll be happy to see these."

"Will that be all for the day, sir?"

He weighed the question with a slight frown before going back to his work at the desk. "...Why not? You've done good, Quis. Go get in some free time."

It took him a moment to realize she didn't move. Pausing again, he popped a curious eyebrow and looked back at her.

"Well..?"

"If the reports are done, then you should be free to take me down to the range, correct?"

This one warranted an actual frown. "S'matter, Quis?" he asked. "You know the way there, right?"

"SWA Armory Conduct Code Section Two-A, paragraph two," she recited, her voice taking a barely noticeable dip. "All live rounds for cyborg use must be regulated by way of an authorized Handler and accounted for at all times. Rounds unused during training and missions will be either checked back into the armory or otherwise stored under documentation outside of cyborg access. Furthermore, all cyborg training with live rounds will be overseen by her respective Handler."

"Ouch," he grimaced and leaned back in his chair. So that's why she was so insistent about getting his work done... "Forgot about how tightwound these guys are... Tell ya what," he leaned forward again and retrieved one of the cards he was working on to hold up. "Finish these up with me an' we can practice straight through to dinner. Deal?"

Quistis pursed her lips as her eyes flickered some form of worry.

"They're invitations," he supplied, showing her one. She took the proffered card and gave it a disdainful look. "For a tea party."

"A tea party?"

He tried to ignore that edge in her voice. "Yeah, a tea party," he nodded and pulled the corners of his mouth up. "For us fratelli agents. I figure we could all use a chance to slow down a little."

"But, sir—"

"Uhp!" he held up a hand. Her eyes flashed in response but her mouth shut dutifully. Laguna winced; he forgot how sensitive the conditioning made her to his orders. "You... ummm..." he continued on a little softer. "You'll... thank me later."

_Hopefully_.

"... Yes sir."

He stared at her for a second longer as she silently picked up the spare card stock and began drafting while standing.

"Y'know... you could—"

She shot him a look that bordered on annoyed, but still somehow remained safely compliant.

Sighing, he got out of the chair and loosely gestured to it. "You take the desk, Quis. Alright?"

She didn't move. "Which leaves you where?"

Laguna scooped up his current efforts, as well as an old binder, and moved over to the bed, laying the cards out on the back of the binder, now perched on his lap.

"...Unacceptable."

He shrugged. "Hey, if it's what I want, you'll do it, right?"

"..." They both knew the answer to that one.

"So... sit."

Reluctantly, she obeyed.

Inside, Laguna swallowed another grimace and told himself things would get better eventually.

Eventually.

}§{

Jose Croce sat down at his desk and began to sort through the documents that had piled up while he was away on assignment. It was, in a way, a refreshing activity. Something he could always count on to be the same boring stuff that went to the same filing cabinets after filling out the same boxes in the analysis forms. It was a way to decompress, to finally have a moment to himself away from work and away from Henrietta. Marco Toni, who inhabited the desk across from him, never said much, and it allowed for a quiet moment without reminders to anything save the present.

So when he came across a slate-gray envelope addressed to him, he hesitantly accepted that his routine was about to be derailed.

"Know what this is?" Marco asked, holding up a similar envelope.

Jose shrugged. The writing was too ornamented to be any sort of official message from an internal source, and it didn't have any postage marks, so an outside sender wasn't an option either. Not to mention that Marco had one almost exactly like it.

Jose shook his head in reply and began opening the envelope. "Not a clue. Calligraphy practice?" The girls were often encouraged to engage in fine arts to refine their motor skills. Perhaps a Handler was simply exercising his cyborg's talents.

"For who? Priscilla?" Marco grunted. "Too plain for her."

"...What's it say?"

"You haven't opened yours?" the older man gave him a judgmental frown. "It's an invitation. Apparently the Laguna/Quistis fratello is throwing a tea party."

_Tea party_.

_You'll come, right?_ Enrica's suppressed hopefulness echoed back in his mind. _You won't let work get in the way again? Promise you'll have tea with me, please?_

"... I think I'll pass."

"Same here," Marco sighed, "I've got enough to worry about keeping Angelica in workable form. What's that idiot thinking?"

"Maybe he just wants some company."

Marco gave an unsympathetic snort. "He's got a cyborg that can stand on her own two feet. He should be fine."

}§{

"Garamonde, what do you make of this?"

Cyan stroked his mustache and continued to stare thoughtfully at the invitation on his desk. "Is he aware of the joint raid? The scheduling completely eclipses it."

"Unlikely," Hilshire answered from across the desk, not looking up from his work. "We got those orders this morning, while he was away."

"Mmm," Cyan acknowledged, narrowing his eyes. "Regrettably, it appears we're at an impasse then. The mission cannot be compromised."

"Then we agree."

Cyan nodded. "Perhaps a note of apology, but nothing more. Mr. Loire must learn the harsh realities of our work."

}§{

After a duly cautious test against possible explosive content, Vincent finally opened the unmarked envelope.

He gave the card it carried a cursory skim before concluding that it wasn't anything pertinent to his work, or even a coded message, before promptly putting it through the shredder.

If he was asked about it later, he resolved to double book the time slot, just in case one prior engagement card fell through. Besides, if he was really trying he might be able to accomplish both anyway. Vincent Valentine didn't actually know much about his co-workers or what kind of tea parties they threw, and frankly he didn't care.

Besides... he was more of a red wine kind of guy.

}§{

The day came sooner than Quistis would've liked. Still, it was Signoire Laguna's order, and therefore her command. She tried to make up for the lost afternoon by tackling as much mission prep as possible before she was dragged away on her Handler's whims. Really, the difference between what the man wanted and what he needed was almost too far to comprehend.

Finally, just before noon, she abandoned her work and marched off to the mess hall loading dock to meet up with Laguna. The Portuguese man was waiting in the faded blue pick-up truck he insisted on driving. It was a stark contrast to the sports cars of his peers, but apparently his rural Portuguese heritage had instilled some awful taste in automotives. He smiled and waved at her out the driver's window. Making an effort to hold her head high, Quistis approached and boarded the vehicle without responding.

"Hey there, Quis!" her Handler greeted her. "How's the morning?"

"Productive," she reported, strapping herself in. They wouldn't even be leaving the compound, nor did she expect Laguna to crash, but force of habit demanded to be adhered to. "I've re-cleaned our weapons and begun drafting possible approach routes for our next mission for your consideration, sir."

"Atta girl," he reached over to rub the top of her head. She suffered the action with dignity. "So, you hungry?"

It was a stupid question. While her synthetic muscles didn't eat calories at quite the alarming rate that the earlier models did, she still required a hearty intake to maintain the system; not to mention that her body was still struggling to grow despite the stunting effects of the conditioning. Most active cyborgs were almost constantly in some state of hunger, a fact the techs tried to suppress through specialized meal plans. However, in the case that a meal was missed – such as the breakfast she'd worked through this morning – it accentuated the problem.

"Okay, okay," he chuckled, putting the car in gear. "Don't worry. A picnic fit for a king awaits."

She gave him a pointed look.

"...Or, perhaps just a regional governor," he adjusted. "Sorry, I forgot how much hyperbole gets under your skin."

"..."

Apparently that was enough to shut him up. At least until the end of the car ride. He stopped upwind of the practice ranges along a fence of trees and began unloading their meal from boxes he'd tightly crammed into the back seat.

"C'mon, Quis, give me a hand!"

She acquiesced with a neutral look. Moving boxes seemed like a pretty menial use for millions of euros in taxpayers money, but so was a picnic tea. So long as she was along for the ride, she was resolved to at least be useful.

It wasn't long though before the smell of whatever it was Laguna had packed got to her. No matter how much she'd like to deny it, she really _was _pretty hungry, and whatever was in the boxes was making her mouth water. Before Laguna could finish unpacking the first one, she had already brought out all the others and was waiting to see if it was simply her appetite talking, or if the promised meal was as good as it smelled.

Glazed pastries, perfectly browned cookies, and stuffed breads appeared alongside a variety of cheeses and a strange device looking like a glorified water cooler which Signore Laguna filled with a thermos of steaming water.

"It's a samonov!" Laguna explained as he proceeded to brew tea in the metal tank. "Got it at an antique shop, 'specially for today."

Quistis gave the half-polished tea tank a measuring look and made a few estimates on just how much the antique shop owner had cheated her Handler.

Before she could look away, Laguna noticed her expression and smiled. Of course he would smile...

"Don't worry," he told her, replacing the lid. "I cleaned the inside much better. The tea's not gonna taste like ten year's dust."

"...What kind of tea?"

"Not a clue," he told her, haplessly honest as ever. "It had some weird Asian name I couldn't pronounce. I figure so long as I could read the brewing instructions, we're good. Besides..." he tapped his fingers beside the nearby sugar bowl. "I brought refill, just in case it turns out to be a dud."

"Your confidence is overwhelming."

He frowned. "That... actually wasn't supposed to come across as... hold on a minute, you're being wry, aren't you?"

"Maybe," she replied in a blank tone.

She held back a wince as her stomach reminded her that lunch still needed to happen, and soon, preferably. "… When can we eat?"

"Oh, the great warrior Quistis wants to eat _my_ cooking? Let's see here..." Laguna drawled out dramatically, assuming a thinking pose. "Well, I guess a cookie or two can't hurt. Besides, the others will be here any minute."

Quistis quickly indulged in the offer, stuffing in a Swedish butter cookie and a ginger snap, before his words processed in her mind.

"You made this?" She held up another cookie, soft yet firm.

"Umm... yes?" He gave a shrug and a slightly forced smile. "Mostly, anyway, that girl in the cafeteria helped a little. It's not... _bad_, is it?"

"Interesting..."

"Wait... that's all I get?"

She gave him a flat look. "You could always just order me to tell you what I think."

He paused, that strange look that he always got when she talked about her conditioning passing over his face.. "...Yeah, okay. I guess I should've guessed it by the way you practically inhaled them."

"I _am_ hungry," she pointed out. She'd assumed he'd been listening when he asked earlier. Apparently, reading stoic silence wasn't in his skill set.

He sighed theatrically. "I don't s'pose you'd like to help yourself to some of the rest, would you?"

Free of the imminent protests of her stomach, Quistis nodded and reached for one of the stuffed breads, a calzone. She bounced it lightly in his direction, as if toasting him, before bringing it to her lips. "Thank you, sir."

"Welcome, princess," he acknowledged, taking one of the meat stuffed dough pockets himself. "Just save some for when everyone else gets here."

She paused just shy of taking a bite. "Who do you think is coming?"

"...Most of 'em," Laguna said around a good sized mouthful. "The German and that Cyan guy are busy with work though; pretty sure Vince said something similar. Jean's a solid maybe—"

"Did he actually say that?"

"...Well, he never actually said no, so I figure there's still a chance he might show up."

"..." Taking a bite of her calzone, Quistis decided that if her Handler wanted to believe Jean Croce was ever indecisive about anything, then it was already a lost cause to convince him otherwise. For now, she would settle for enjoying the meal and keeping track of the wind drift.

}§{

Time went on unnoticed and they chipped further into the fruits of Laguna's labor. He poured tea from his "samonov" and they toasted each other, at his insistence, on a fratello well met. Quistis still refused to say more than was necessary, but by the end of it, she was at least willing to reach beyond the blanket and feel the grass in scrunchy handfuls. It was only by two o'clock that he realized the passage of time due to the cooling of the goods.

And still they were alone.

"Perhaps simply meeting at a caffè would've secured a better response," Quistis suggested as they packed the copious amounts of left-overs into the truck. "Somewhere wine is available."

Laguna made a slight face at the offer. "I dunno, Quis. A bunch of guys with a bunch of a little girls goin' out for drinks could look more than a little sketchy."

"We don't have to drink the same," she pointed out. "A round of drinks for the Handlers and a glass of... milk, or something, for the rest of us."

He looked like he paused to consider it before he started the car. Almost immediately after though, he shook his head. "Naw... I think I'd rather share the same stuff."

She gave him a sideways look and cocked an eyebrow. "Even if it means drinking alone?"

He simply gave a small smile and a shrug. "If it means drinking with my partner, I think I can stomach the loss."

"Sir, I do not believe I'll ever understand you."

"But did you have fun?"

She pursed her lips, trying to come up with an acceptable definition of "fun" to work with. From general contexts, she knew it was supposed to be something like enjoyment, though on a strange level more exuberant than satisfaction but also more shallow.

"...The meal was good."

If nothing else, settling for the concise truth seemed like a safe bet.

"Good," he nodded and set the car into gear, then started on the road back to the compound. "I guess that's good enough, then."

Despite almost nothing working out, the Portuguese man smiled broadly at the barren sunlit path outside his windshield.

Giving him one more sidelong look, Quistis set her own eyes forward and switched back from a mindset she hadn't been aware she'd slipped into. Truly, the event had affected her somehow, she could tell that much. The difficult question was then simply how and why.

Before she could linger too long on the subject, her mind(probably at the bidding of the conditioning) pushed it back down into the woodwork. That didn't matter though. Like a dream she couldn't remember: even if the thought was gone, the feeling remained.

A feeling that, somehow, this too could someday also be a part of her.

_fin_

}§{

**In-Universe Notes:**

**-**Setting:-

**Gunslinger Girl**: An anime/manga about adolescent girls remade into combat cyborgs by the Italian government via the Social Welfare Agency(SWA). The meat of the series covers the girls' plights as well as that of their Handlers, adult men assigned to the training and field supervision of the cyborgs. Together, these teams are known as fratelli(singular: fratello). In order to make the cyborgs combat worthy, as well as to prevent the organic bodies from rejecting the cybernetic components, the girls are given a drug known as "conditioning" that often affects their thought patterns and erases the memories of their previous lives.

**Dual Trigger**: Dual Trigger is then taking the Gunslinger Girl setting and crossing it over with Final Fantasy characters. It adds one or two elements, but nothing that affects this story too terribly much.

-Persona:-

**Laguna: **Originally from Final Fantasy VIII, Laguna is here seen as an SWA Handler, recruited into the organization after illegally hopping the border in pursuit of a syndicate that kidnapped his adoptive niece, Ellone. Although he genuinely does have a fair amount of skill (and luck) with gun-play, he is regarded as lazy and incompetent for actions like leaving his cyborg to write his reports and tendency to pursue clues regarding Ellone's possible whereabouts over mission objectives. It is rumored the SWA technical staff doesn't suspect him to survive his time with the Agency.

**Quistis: **Also from Final Fantasy VIII, Quistis is here seen as Laguna's cyborg and is roughly a 1.9 model, acting as a prototype for the second generation. Because Laguna was essentially forced into the Agency by one of its sponsors, Quistis was conditioned for him with a short term employment in mind. Thus, with the lightest load possible, Quistis is prone to struggling with feelings of loathing for her handler more than feelings of affection or attachment like many of the other girls. The hope of the SWA techs is that the lighter conditioning will allow her to be reconditioned after Laguna's projectedly inevitable demise; in the meantime though, it makes for a few bumps in their fratello, leaving Quistis to answer questions about her thoughts and feelings often left up to the conditioning.

-Additional:-

The item Laguna refers to as a Samonov is a Samovar: a Russian tea brewing pot. Also, Laguna's machine gun model is never referred to by name because the in-game model is (as far as I can tell) not an actual real-world model. Which is funny, considering Seifer's Gunblade is based on a Beretta.


End file.
